


Heartbeat by my feet

by vextant



Series: Happy Steve Bingo 2018 Fills [7]
Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dogsitting, Fluff, Gen, Happy Steve Bingo, It's very vague, Snuggling, Thunderstorms, Which Canon? You Decide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 13:46:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16641309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vextant/pseuds/vextant
Summary: Steve agrees to watch Lucky while Clint's out of town.—A fill for the prompt "Snuggling" for the Happy Steve Bingo 2018.





	Heartbeat by my feet

 

Clint’s dog is the most excitable thing Steve has ever seen. The moment he opens the door, a blur of golden fur blasts past him deep into the apartment. He glances over his shoulder to see the big lug nosing at the windows next to the couch, wagging his tail for all the people and cars and activity and  _ things _ he can see from up here. It makes Steve smile. 

“Lucky—!” Clint tries to snatch the dog’s collar, but he’s too slow. He sighs so morosely that it makes Steve chuckle a little bit. “Sorry. Are you sure you can take him? Kate’s offered too, I know your place might not exactly be, uh, dog _ -proof _ —”

“It’s fine. Really.” Steve can’t help but smile. Lucky knows they’re talking about him, and tilts his head at them so that his big pink tongue lolls out of his mouth. “Anything I should know?”

“Uh, he loves pizza, but don’t give him any. Vet’s orders.” says Clint. Lucky gives a soft whine, and Clint talks right over him. “Yeah, well if you learned the meaning of  _ share _ , you wouldn’t have had a whole Supreme to yourself and we wouldn’t be in this situation. What else? Oh, he’s always going to act like he’s starving. He isn’t, he gets two scoops a day and some, uh, T-R-E-A-Ts if you think he’s being good. Uhm. Furniture is fine, I have a shitton of lint rollers if you need me to bring some when I come get him. And he’s a big baby when it comes to thunderstorms, but weather report says the skies are clear.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

“Yeah, let’s see what tune you’re singin’ in 48 hours.” Clint laughs. He always laughs a little loud, because of his aids — Steve thinks it’s because he likes to be able to hear  _ himself _ and not just other people. It’s a nice, genuine laugh, and it makes Steve smile. “Thanks, though. I appreciate it.”

“Of course, anytime.”

  
  
  
  


In retrospect, Steve should’ve never trusted the weather report. He has most of the windows cracked open while he cooks dinner — not fully opened, he doesn’t want to risk anything with Lucky here, he’s just tilted them in from the top to get the airflow going. 

The storm comes in an instant. Steve hears what sounds like his upstairs neighbor spilling rice, but then he remembers that he lives on the top floor. As he looks to the window, he watches a solid  _ sheet _ of water spill from the rooftop. He almost trips over the dog in his rush to get the windows closed. The plants on the windowsills need water, sure, but not that much all at once, and Steve doesn’t want to blow-dry the carpet again to keep it from molding. 

Lucky, for what it’s worth, doesn’t seem to panic as much as Steve does. When Steve’s finished with the windows, he trots up to him and sticks his wet black nose into Steve’s hand. 

Steve thinks it’s funny. He’s never met a dog that practically pets himself before. 

Then the thunder  _ cracks _ . 

It’s louder than expects, even in the distance, so Steve hears it but isn’t too concerned. Lucky — Lucky  _ loses his damn **mind** _ **.** He can’t decide whether he wants to run from the sound or try and scare it off, so he switches back and forth between the two — bolting to the bathroom, the furthest point from the windows and whimpering, and then racing back to charge at the windows with loud growls and barks before sprinting off again to go whimper in the bathroom.

“Hey, hey!” says Steve, holding up his hands and planting himself in Lucky’s path. The dog just darts around him. “It’s fine, boy, it’s just the weather!”

Lucky makes one more loop from bathroom to living room and back to bathroom, but this time he doesn’t burst back out. The soft whine echoing off the tile breaks Steve’s heart. 

“Hey, buddy, you’re okay. You’re okay, it’s just a little rain.” Steve makes his way down the hallway and pokes his head in. 

The bathroom’s a little worse for the wear. Steve’s rug is all bunched up in the corner, and his stack of freshly folded towels has been knocked off the counter before he had the chance to put them away — but that one’s on him, he had plenty of chances before he knew Clint was coming to drop his dog off. 

Lucky’s curled himself up the in the bathtub. When Steve calls his name again, he lifts his head, sets it on the edge of the tub, and huffs a tired, full-body sigh. His eye reminds Steve of cows’ eyes: big and brown and so, _so_ sad. He sits on the edge of the tub and pets Lucky’s head. “You wanna stay in here, huh? That’s cool. It’s safe in here.”

He supposes he should feel kind of weird, talking to a dog. After all, it’s not like Lucky can talk back to him. He can only look up with that big brown eye of his — Steve briefly wonders what happened to the other one, Clint’s never told the same story about it twice — to try and let Steve guess what he possibly might be feeling. 

Outside, the thunder claps again. Lucky draws away from his to do his best impression of a dog-sized armadillo. 

“Mind if I join you? It’s a big tub.” 

Steve kicks off his slippers and starts to slide in before Lucky can answer — which he  _ can’t _ , because he is a dog, and Steve knows this, but it still feels more polite to give him the option to refuse somehow.

The tub is big, but Steve by himself is also a big guy, and Lucky is not a small dog. Steve ends up sitting with his knees up to his chest by the faucet while Lucky tries desperately to tuck himself tighter at the other side. There’s another thunderclap. It’s closer this time, and the building rumbles a little with it. The cup that Steve keeps his toothbrush in rattles against the sink. 

Lucky lets out another low whimper. 

“Shh, hey, you’re okay.” Steve says. He tries to keep it low and quiet, more soothing than scary. He doesn’t know if Lucky’s being comforted by him being so close, or if he’s intimidated that Steve is forcing himself into his space. 

He tries to make himself look more welcoming, adjusting to sit with his legs crossed at the ankles and his lap open. His knees brush either side of the tub; he hopes he looks unimposing. 

Lucky’s reaction is instant. The big retriever skitters into Steve’s lap and tries to burrow, burying his head in Steve’s stomach. 

“ _ Oof _ , okay— hey there, let me— oh,  _ watch  _ it, don’t step— here, let’s try this.” Steve stretches out to avoid anything valuable getting stepped on. “This work for you?”

Lucky makes himself comfortable in Steve’s lap, laying against his chest and tucking his head against Steve’s shoulder. Steve can feel the wet, hot breath on his ear, but he doesn’t mind. He gently works his arms around Lucky — giving him the opportunity to wiggle out if he feels trapped — and just holds him. Lucky’s breaths get slower, and he nuzzles his cold wet nose into Steve’s neck. 

“Yeah, this is nice, huh?” Steve smiles. Lucky makes a rumble noise in his chest that Steve thinks is a happy one. 

It is quite nice though. It’s like having a big furry anchor weighing you down. Steve feels aware, grounded, and calm, even as the storm rages. He doesn’t even notice that Lucky falls asleep, because he’s halfway to drifting off himself. 

The thunder stops eventually, and the rain turns from heavy torrents to a light drizzle. Steve can hear it hitting the windows. He doesn’t want to move though — he’s warm, and comfortable. It’s an unmistakable feeling of  _ safe _ . 

He closes his eyes and lets himself sleep too. 

**Author's Note:**

> > The title is a quote from Edith Wharton, an American novelist.
> 
> Thank YOU for reading! I hope you enjoyed this harmless fluff.


End file.
